


Ghost of You

by Bookshido



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, and i'll tell you how i murdered a girl named heather chandler, circa 2004, letter from hell, my life got flipped turned upside down, now i'd like to take a minute if you'll sit right there, now this is a story all about how, single mother, this author tuned out of a lecture to write this, who's the dad?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-10-13 03:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10505292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookshido/pseuds/Bookshido
Summary: A pair of letters from Veronica Sawyer to the long dead Jason Dean fifteen years after the events of the film.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is my first work on AO3, so please let me know what you think and if you guys are interested in me continuing the series of letters.

Dear ~~Jason~~ ~~J. Dean~~ J.D,

It's been a long time; almost fifteen years. It's been almost fifteen years since you joked about killing Heather Chandler as revenge. Almost fifteen since we killed Heather Chandler. Almost fifteen since we first slept together and almost fifteen since you murdered Ram and Kurt. Almost fifteen years since I had to pretend to die to keep you away from me. Almost fifteen years since I shot you with your own gun. Almost fifteen since you walked away from me and took yourself out with the bomb you had intended for our classmates.

To be honest, I never thought I would be writing this letter. I've spent so long putting my life back together, trying to move on and forget what ~~we~~ you did. It feels strange to be writing to you. Normally, I'd be sending you a text or email, but you never lived to see their creation. You would've hated them, I suppose. You disliked mainstream culture so much, I wouldn't be surprised if you broke your phone as an act of rebellion against the system. 

This letter was actually Jenna's idea. Jenna is my therapist; has been since college when the free service decided I was too fucked up for them. She knows everything and was involved in my case when it finally went to court. Jenna has been a saint and a true friend, even outside of therapy. She's known Michael since he was a baby and even worked as a sitter sometimes when I had to go to class or take my finals. College with a kid was interesting, to say the least. I ended up going to Duke (Mainly because they offered the most financial aid). College kids go so hard. I don't know if you ever went to parties that the popular kids went to when you were at Westerberg, but I've stopped drinking entirely and haven't been out in ages. My friends (The few that I made) all made fun of me because of Michael and how I had to stay home and watch him. 

Yeah, I know, the thought of me having a kid at 32 even scares me after all these years. Who thought to entrust me with a tiny human? He's almost in high school now, so it's even stranger. Barely fifteen years ago, I was a high schooler myself. Well... I'm sure you can do the math. I only slept with one person before you, so there's no other logical option. Yes, he is yours. Little did I know that the pill was not infallible. I didn't even know that I was pregnant until I started puking like crazy three months in. You should've seen the look on my mom's face. By that point, she knew everything and I know what she immediately thought. I told her that I'd slept with someone else, because I knew that she would've made me get an abortion if she knew the truth. The whole situation with the courts and the murders has been really hard on her and the truth would only make it worse.  She sometimes asks me if I'll tell her who the father is (Usually when I'm running low on my budget), but I've decided to keep it my little secret.

Michael isn't so little now. He looks just like you that it's I'm back in Westerberg again whenever I see him. It scares me, if I'm perfectly honest, that he's going to become like you. As of now, he's nothing like what you became: he's kind and curious and just loves life and the people in it. I will say, he has taken a liking to philosophy (Especially Nietzsche) and loves to debate over the meaning of life, the universe, and everything with me. He's an almost straight A student, which makes me a very proud mom when he gets the honor roll. 

You are probably wondering how a person like me has been able to raise a child. I had been planning my future since junior high school and a baby was in no part of it until well after college when I was happily married. I'm still not married, though I have dated. I made a promise when he was born: I would never teach him or let him learn that life is war. I would never leave and I would be the best mother I could be. Everything that happened to you, I would stop it. And I've done a damn good job of it, if I say so myself. 

I'm not sure if I will be sending you any more letters this week or into the future. I'll have to talk to Jenna during our session on Monday. In the meantime, I have to wrap this up because I have to go pick Michael up from school. Then he's got soccer practice. Yes, I am a but of a soccer mom. I haven't gotten a minivan yet, but I have the feeling that I'm going to need to soon (The amount of baggage keeps growing).

Sincerely,

Veronica Sawyer


	2. Letter Two

This letter came together much easier than the last one did. 

Michael won his latest soccer game with a score of 3:0. I've never seen him so happy. They're going to championships in March, so I have to find some way to raise a couple thousand dollars to fly up to the capitol. Since his grades are so good, I have no doubt that his school is going to be fine with him missing a week. Especially when his GPA is so high and his team might actually make it to nationals. The principal is just like Gowan, obsessed with titles and fancy things she can say to win more funding for the teams. I'm not complaining, because unlike with Gowan, this actually benefits me. Funny how the times can change, amiright?

I started trying to talk with Michael about you today. Like these letters, it was Jenna's idea; she thinks I'm ready now. So I asked him on his way home from school if he wanted to know about you. I don't know whether to be horrified or excited that he wants to know more about you. Turns out that he's been wanting to know for years, but never had the courage to ask me because he knew how much I was hurting. I started laughing when he told me, but I started crying too, because dammit; I'm not only going to have to tell my son that his father is dead but also, guess what, he murdered three of his classmates and I helped. I wish you were here. What should I do? I've considered just giving him your name and telling him to go looking, but I don't know what he'll find.

So many news networks covered Westerberg that I don't want him to find the ones that said that I was the real villain. What does that tell him? I've been trying to keep it away from him his whole life, deflecting questions from overzealous moms who wanted to know if I really am Veronica Sawyer from Westerberg or reporters who want to try and cobble together some story. If he doesn't hear it from me, it'll look like I've been lying to him. But if I tell him, he probably won't believe me unless I bring out the articles myself. I... I don't know anymore. I think I'm going to sit him down and tell him. You know what, I'm going to do it right now, while I still have the nerve. I'll write the second half of this letter then. 

* * *

 

I... he took that better than I thought he would. I just... I can't write about this here. I can't. Maybe one day, but for now, I need to be with my son. I need to focus on him. Maybe that's what Jenna was trying to tell me. That I need to let go of the ghost of you and focus on my son and his future. He may be your son, but he is not you.

He is not you.

He is not you.

He is not you.

He is not you.

He is not you.

He is not you.

And I won't let the image of you corrupt what I see in him. The brilliance and brightness, the love for life, the passion for learning and the world that breaks through any kind of darkness that's left in my world. When I am around him, I feel content, happy, and proud. I am proud of something I did for once in my life. Ever since senior year, I haven't had anything I've been proud of but him. Every time I failed an exam, I could come home and seeing his face cheered me up.

So, Jason Dean: Fuck you. 

Fuck you for controlling me for years, for making me fear my own son, for making me fear myself, and for making me nearly orphan my son ten years ago. 

But thank you.

Thank you for Michael Sawyer. 


End file.
